Daniel Barenboim’s infrequent Chopin recordings betray no special affinity or particular love for this composer’s idiom. Indeed, it’s hard to work up much enthusiasm over Barenboim’s 1976 Op. 28 Preludes when the pianist himself seems none too excited. He underplays movements that cry out for virtuosic vitality (Nos. 8 and 16), while his left-hand runs in No. 3 and downward right-hand figurations in No. 10 don’t quite attain the last degree of polish and poise that other pianists offer. Barenboim’s tiny agogic adjustments in No. 9 make it difficult to latch on to the basic tempo, although No. 7 is refreshingly simple and direct. Like Arrau, Barenboim’s unorthodox, deliberate way with No. 14 is likely to raise a few eyebrows, but his bumbling crawl through No. 23 is a pretentious caricature. Notwithstanding its interesting moments, Barenboim’s Op. 28 falls short next to the many fine versions that also appeared in the 1970s, including Arrau, Pollini, Ashkenazy, Moravec, Argerich, and the still-to-be-reissued-on-CD Perahia edition.
The two “extra” preludes fare better, especially in how Barenboim’s bass-oriented phrase shaping in the C-sharp minor underscores its premonitions of Brahms’ keyboard deployment. The Berceuse is a shade too sober and straightlaced to lull listeners, but Barenboim’s plodding, enervated Polonaise-Fantasie guarantees a 13-and-a-half-minute snooze. The two variation sets are pure, unadulterated fluff, and they require far more charm and scintillation than Barenboim’s solidly professional, one-dimensional pianism musters. In the context of Barenboim’s greatest recorded achievements (both at the keyboard and on the podium), this disc is a footnote at best, abetted by drab, close-up sonics.
